


It's a long way down

by InnerMuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen is an anxious teddy bear, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jaws of Hakkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerMuse/pseuds/InnerMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor suffers a bad fall attempting to cross over a canyon. Focuses on Cullen's reaction, with some party banter. Cross-posted from the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Look

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme prompt here (http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15060.html?thread=58821844#t58821844)
> 
> "So there's this piece of banter in Jaws of Hakkon when you're crossing a canyon via tree.
> 
> Dorian: Everyone remember not to look down  
> Quiz: I... may have already looked  
> Dorian: Just try not to think about it. Or fall. Falling would be worse.  
> Dorian: I'm not going to be the one to explain to Cullen that I let you fall to your death from a tree.
> 
> Cue me immediately jumping off the tree and faceplanting the ground."

"Normally I hate being wrong, but in this particular instance I will make an exception. Please tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing."

"You mean the massive canyon that we're on the wrong side of? You're not wrong. Unfortunately."

Dorian grimaced at the Inquisitor's words. "Wonderful. I was so looking forward to another six hour detour -- I think there might be a two-inch patch of my robes that hasn't already been ruined by insects, mud, and humidity. We couldn't have that, now, could we?"

The Inquisitor snorted, raking a hand through sweaty hair. Blackwall spoke up from behind them before she could respond.

"At least you're not wearing full plate armor. Some of us actually have to care when our equipment gets wet. I'll be surprised if my boots aren't a pile of rusty scraps by the time we're done here." He exchanged a sympathetic nod with the Inquisitor. They'd grumbled together over the sorry state of their gear often enough in this Maker-forsaken jungle. It was a welcome distraction from the insect bites that seemed to appear miraculously underneath their heavy armor in the most inconvenient places.

Sera inserted herself into the lull in the conversation. She had wandered ahead while they bantered and now stood at the edge of the precipice, pointing a ways to their left.

"Oy! If you lot'd stop talking long enough to pay attention, you'd notice the spanking big tree over here. We don't have to go around this whole shite-buttered canyon, we can just cross over it. Much better than listening to Mr. Tevinter Sweaty Pants over there complain all day about going backwards. For, like, the zillionth time."  
The other three eyed the makeshift log bridge dubiously. It was thick, with branches sticking out at odd angles for handholds, but the surface was slick with moss and some of the extra limbs looked half-rotted.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Blackwall spoke what they were all thinking. Undeterred, Sera scoffed.

"Don't be such a wet biscuit! You're prolly just scared. Look, it'll be fine, see?" Before anyone could do more than open their mouth, the nimble elf had jumped onto the log and was running -- actually _running_ \-- across. The Inquisitor swallowed down a startled noise before shouting after her.

"Sera! Sweet Maker, don't be stupid!"  
Dorian and Blackwall both shook their heads.

"I always knew that girl was an idiot," the burly warrior muttered, "but at least she's a capable idiot." Indeed, Sera was already halfway across the canyon. In short order, she'd clambered up the lip of stone on the other side. She turned to stare with her hands on her hips cockily.

"Well?! What are you waiting for? Come on, then, it's not like we have all day." After a beat, she grinned wickedly and added, "Last one across gets spiders in their bedroll tonight!"  
Dorian's groan went nicely with Blackwall's gusty sigh and the smack of the Inquisitor's palm against her forehead. The false Warden was the first to respond.

"Right, well then, may as well get this over with. I don't fancy sleeping on any spiders, we see enough giant ones as it is," he said, pushing past his companions to step gingerly onto the fallen tree. That left Dorian and the Inquisitor, who looked at each other apprehensively. The mage gestured her forward with a gallant flourish.

"Go ahead. If Sera puts anything in _my_ bedroll, I'm setting hers on fire, and she knows it."  
\---

The canyon seemed to double in size from the moment the Inquisitor stepped onto the log bridge. Progress was slow, if steady, but the moss-slick footing and the distant rumble of the river below made each step an ordeal. Sera, unsurprisingly, had no sympathy.

"You're all overthinking it, yeah?" She called from her perch on the far edge. Her feet dangled over the lip of stone, and she kicked back and forth impatiently. "Just go for it, it's only walking!"

"Not helping, Sera!" The Inquisitor shouted back, carefully planting her boots against the worn bark. A few steps passed in tense silence. She thought she might manage to cross without further interruption when Dorian offered his own advice from behind her.

"Everyone remember not to look down."

The Inquisitor growled. "Too late," she muttered through gritted teeth, "I already looked."

"Well, try not to think about it, then. Or fall. Falling would be worse," he retorted. "I'm not going to be the one to explain to Cullen that I let you fall to your death from a tree."

Annoyed at his distracting attempts to be helpful, the Inquisitor glanced over her shoulder.

"Would you please just--" The _be quiet_ died on her lips, replaced by a cry of surprise as her next step went out from under her. A frantic scramble, clutching for something, anything, to hold onto-- a thick branch met her grasping fingers. The Inquisitor's abrupt descent jolted to a halt. She hung from the side of the log, panting with adrenaline, as Sera's cry of "Shite!" echoed off the rock walls. Dorian's pale face appeared above a moment later, eyes wide.

"Inquisitor! Hold on, don't move, just a minute--"  
"Hurry up, Dorian! Just-- don't fall!"

The Tevinter mage plastered himself flat against the makeshift walkway. One arm wrapped around a convenient branch, the other extending down towards her. The Inquisitor eyed the distance grimly. The lifeline he offered was just out of reach, but if she lunged for it--

The next moments seemed both too fast and too slow. She heaved herself upward, one hand reaching, reaching-- her fingers connected with Dorian's, only to slide out of his sweat-slick grip as the half-rotted branch beneath her snapped with a damp, squelching crunch. She plummeted, wind roaring past her ears. The sound was not quite enough to drown out Dorian's anguished "NO!" or Blackwall's inarticulate shout of horror. The last thing she heard was the renewed litany of "shite"s from Sera, before she bounced off the side of the canyon with a terrible crunch. Everything faded as her vision exploded with stars, then splintered into darkness.


	2. Everything Hurts

_Pain_ was really not a very precise concept. She would know -- there was a lot of it involved in being Inquisitor. Everything from banging an elbow on Skyhold's doorways to the burning slashes of a demon's claws counted as pain. The crackling torrent of power that surged through the Anchor as she closed a rift was not pain, precisely, but it was close. Falling off a cliff, bouncing off the rocky walls, and possibly breaking every bone in her body, however, passed well beyond pain and got lost somewhere between "agony" and "torment." The Inquisitor didn't think she was lucid enough to place it precisely. In fact, the Inquisitor was rather certain she was hardly lucid at all.

She was vaguely thankful; lucidity would not be an asset in this particular situation. If she were more herself, she might start noticing things like the fact that the blue-green light behind her eyes was the color of healing magic, or that every breath felt like someone had replaced her ribs with daggers, or that somewhere above her Dorian's voice was cursing fluently as he lamented his lack of skill healing broken bones. A hoarse scream rang out, accompanied by a spike of pain -- was that her voice? It must have been, otherwise why would it have hurt so much? The Inquisitor languished, insensate, for a moment that felt like an eternity. When she managed to wrench her focus back from the torturous cacophony of sensation inside her skull, Dorian was in the process of yelling at someone.

"--in pain, but if I rush this she's going to end up with a punctured lung, or worse! Now if you've nothing useful to contribute, kindly back off and _let me work!_ "

If there was a response, the Inquisitor didn't hear it. She was too busy trying not to writhe in agony and make everything worse. Unfortunately for her, she did not succeed. The soft healing light behind her eyes faded as she dropped once more into unconsciousness.  
\------

She rode waves of pain back and forth between sleeping and waking. Snippets of conversation drifted past like icebergs in the deep. Most often it was Dorian, his strings of vulgar Tevene accompanied by the soothing glow of his magic. Sometimes it was Sera, urging the others to greater speed. Once, the elf threatened that "if you die, Inky, I'm never baking us cookies again!" Blackwall was mostly quiet, his steady breathing a comforting rumble as he carried her through the jungle. The Inquisitor wasn't certain how long she hung suspended in that half-conscious haze of pain. Hours? Days? Finally, she surfaced from her uneasy rest to find a mattress underneath her and the creak of wooden walkways all around.

She was feeling marginally better. It still seemed like some great beast had wrapped spiny tendrils around all of her limbs, but at least she no longer felt like she was drowning in her own head. She focused more fully on her surroundings, attention caught by the sound of raised voices nearby.

"You were supposed to keep her _safe,_ Dorian! Falling off a cliff is not safe!"

"Thank you for that brilliant observation, Commander. Clearly we would all be lost without your dizzying intellect!"

"Don't play games with me! You're the one that failed to--"

"To what? What would you have had me do, jump off after her? Then we'd both be dead!"

There was a moment of heavy silence, in which the Inquisitor tried to wrap her tired mind around what she was hearing. The second speaker was obviously Dorian, but the first... No, that couldn't be right. Cullen was back at Skyhold.

"No, that's not-- I'm sorry. I shouldn't jump down your throat. You've done everything you can, I just..."

"I know. Just try to remember that you're not the only one who cares for our Inquisitor."

Well, if that wasn't Cullen, someone was doing a _very_ good impression. Footsteps approached, their measured tread as familiar as her own -- even his walk was correct. The Inquisitor wanted to open her eyes, to see if it was really him, but she was losing focus again. More voices floated past, quietly this time, saying something about bones and elfroot -- Cullen's comforting rumble and another voice, probably the healer. The Inquisitor thought she should tell her Commander how warm and safe she felt, hearing him. Before she could remember how to form words, however, sleep had claimed her once again.  
\------

The next time she woke, someone was holding her hand. A calloused thumb brushed back and forth against her knuckles, the motion achingly familiar. She hadn't dreamt it, then: her Commander was here. The Inquisitor's eyelids fluttered. A hitch of breath beside her; a gentle squeeze of her fingers; her name, falling from his lips like a prayer.

"Come back to me, love," he murmured.  
She would do anything to sooth that ragged edge from his voice. She opened her eyes.

There he was. The Inquisitor drank in the sight of his face, the way lines of tension eased as he looked at her, the delicious quirk of his scar as he smiled in relief. Her own lips twitched upwards in response.

"Hi," he said, voice rich and soft as velvet. Her answering greeting came out as a rasp. It turned into a cough that sent white-hot spears of agony lancing from her chest. Cullen nearly knocked over his chair grabbing a canteen of water from the bedside table, but there was no trace of clumsiness as he held it gently to her lips.

"Better?" He asked once she'd drunk her fill.

"Some," she mumbled -- her throat felt like it was full of sandpaper, now, rather than razor blades. "What're you doing here?"

He set the canteen aside and wiped a trickle of water from her chin. "We got an urgent missive describing your accident and requesting the best healer we could spare. I... may have insisted on coming along. I couldn't have stayed behind, truthfully. If I had to sit in my office waiting for reports, knowing that you were in pain, that if anything happened I wouldn't even hear about it until after the fact..." He stared down at their clasped hands, swallowing. It was the Inquisitor's turn to tighten her grip reassuringly. After a moment he looked up again with a wry smile. "Well, if I started murdering the messengers, Leliana would have me skinned alive. So, really, it's better for everyone involved if I'm here with you," he concluded.

Her huff of amusement quickly turned into a gasp of pain that made her squirm. The motion aggravated her injuries, and the gasp ended on a whine. Cullen was instantly chagrined. He hovered anxiously, stammering an apology. Wide golden eyes searched her face. He must have seen her frustration, for the next moment he leaned over and kissed her. His lips brushed hers with infinite care, an impossibly tender caress.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I hate seeing you injured."

Maker, but she loved this man. There was nothing she could not endure with her Commander at her side.

"I know," she sighed, "But I'm glad you're here."

He smiled at her again -- sweet _Maker,_ that smile -- brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face.

"How bad is it?" She asked as he drew back.

Cullen grimaced. "Three broken ribs, a broken arm, a broken knee on one side and ankle on the other, and scrapes and bruises everywhere else."

The Inquisitor pondered his words for a moment. "Ow," she said. His lips twitched.

"That seems a fair assessment," he agreed. "Luckily, you were unconscious when you hit the ground, or it could've been much worse. Your armor actually took the brunt of the damage. In any case, the healers say you'll make a full recovery, thank the Maker. After everything we've been through, everything _you've_ been through, to lose you now because you fell off a cliff--"  
"A tree."  
"I don't think I could-- What?" Cullen broke off, blinking down at her in confusion.  
"Not a cliff. A tree. Over a canyon."  
"You... fell out of a tree," he repeated.  
"Mhm."  
"Maker's breath, what am I going to do with you?" He sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head. The Inquisitor mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _I have a few ideas._ The Commander raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"While that would be tempting under ordinary circumstances, you're hardly in any shape to be making such a suggestion, love."

Her answering pout made him chuckle. He relented enough to press his lips to her forehead reverently.

"There. Now, you should probably go back to sleep, my lady." Another kiss, feather-light, forestalled any protests. "I'll still be here when you wake. I promise."


	3. Definitely not Pining

Usually, there were very few things that Cullen appreciated more than the sight of the Inquisitor sleeping (though it was narrowly eclipsed by the sight of the Inquisitor awake). On this particular occasion, however, it was anything but enjoyable. Seeing his beloved's normally elegant form weighed down by splints and covered in bandages was enough to make him feel physically ill. Still, Cullen could not complain. There was nowhere he would rather be than by her side. _I'm glad you're here,_ the Inquisitor had said, and he would happily go to the Void and back if it would ease her suffering.

Besides, he couldn't deny that he was partially here for his own sake. His nightmares had been getting better since the fall of Corypheus, helped in no small part by the woman who now lay sprawled in sleep before him. After that heart-stopping report had arrived at Skyhold, however, he knew the dreams would be back in full force until he saw her again, alive and well, with his own eyes.

He'd hardly dared to rest the whole ride down to the Frostback Basin. The first night after they'd arrived had been the hardest in a long time. He had only caught a glimpse of the Inquisitor, lying pale and still and swathed in bloody bandages, before the resident medic and Skyhold's healer had all but ordered him out so they could work in peace.

He'd practically collapsed into bed late that night, only to wake scarcely two hours later, gasping and drenched in cold sweat. His dreams had been as bad as he feared: the image of his beloved's broken body had flashed before his mind's eye again and again. She sprawled at the base of a cliff, dashed to pieces against the rocks, or writhed weakly on the healers' table, slowly bleeding to death as she whimpered his name. But worse, far worse, was the dream of Kinloch Hold. He knelt on hard stone that reeked of death and blood magic, knowing that something was wrong, that he shouldn't be there, but unable to remember why. Then a demon threw the Inquisitor's mangled corpse at his feet, and he forgot everything else as he screamed until his throat tore.

Cullen had not even tried to go back to sleep after that particular nightmare. He hadn't stopped shaking until he knelt at his Inquisitor's bedside, her (relatively) uninjured hand clasped in both of his. Dorian had found him there the next morning, dozing fitfully. Cullen had all but interrogated the mage, desperate for details. His reaction to the full story was entirely unbecoming of the Commander of the Inquisition's forces: he'd taken his fear and anger out on his friend. He'd yelled at Dorian, apologized, thanked him for saving the Inquisitor's life, yelled at him again, taken a walk, and tried a second apology, which unfortunately ended in yet another shouting match.

Later, after he'd been assured of the Inquisitor's continued wellbeing, Cullen had sought out the Tevinter mage for a true apology. Dorian had borne the whole thing with remarkable grace, shrugging off the Commander's rudeness with a weary gesture. Cullen thought it was much more than he deserved, but was thankful nonetheless.

His reverie was interrupted when none other than Dorian appeared at the door, as if on cue. He looked much better than the last time Cullen saw him -- in fact, it wasn't until he saw the mage back to his usual self that Cullen realized how worn he'd been the previous day. The observation brought with it a renewed twinge of guilt, but Dorian spoke before he could dwell on it.

"How is our lovely Inquisitor doing? Not too badly, I presume, or you wouldn't be looking so relaxed." Cullen smiled wryly in response.

"You've got me there. Am I that obvious?" He nodded to the Inquisitor's prone form, one hand still clasped in his. "She just fell asleep a few minutes ago. She's doing about as well as can be expected -- a little out of sorts, but that's hardly surprising."

Dorian rolled his eyes expansively. "Obvious? My dear Commander, anyone with half an eye can see the way you look at the Inquisitor. It practically makes my teeth rot. I think there's even a song about the pair of you -- something about a golden heart to match your golden hair, and the Maker-blessed longings of a Maker-touched maiden. I hear it's actually quite popular among the young ladies of Val Royeaux."

"What?" The Commander sputtered, remembering at the last second to keep his voice down. "That's ridiculous-- you're not serious? Why haven't I heard about this?"

Dorian leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly. "Sister Nightingale came across it and told the Inquisitor, who promptly had it banned from Skyhold. So you wouldn't have had much opportunity to hear it."

"Oh really? And you know about this because...?" Cullen raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"I practically live in the library, remember? I heard them talking about it. I believe her exact words were, 'No one is singing love songs about _my_ Commander in _my_ keep.'"

Nonplussed, the Commander in question looked between Dorian and the sleeping Inquisitor. He could hardly believe-- well, no, in fact, he could believe it. It was all too easy to imagine some painted Orlesian peacock sighing over the Inquisitor's -- over _their_ love life (their relationship was, much to his chagrin, practically public knowledge by now). Maker-blessed longings, indeed. It was no surprise that she hadn't wanted such drivel playing around Skyhold. The Inquisitor did tend to get rather possessive where he was concerned. Dorian's quote sounded exactly like her. Cullen said as much, blinking in confusion when the other man burst out laughing, hastily clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

"Maker, the look on your face when you talk about her -- I never paid much attention to it before. You pine so beautifully, Commander, it's no wonder someone put it to song."

"I am not pining!" He muttered indignantly, "She's right here!"

"Well, yes," countered Dorian, grinning outright now, "But she could be awake, no? Staring at you adoringly? With, what was it, 'Eyes alight with love as bright as Maker's flame above--'" He broke off as he caught the full force of Cullen's thunderous glare, the one that left errant recruits quaking in their boots. The mage sobered somewhat, covering his remaining chuckles in a cough. "In any case. I came by to see how you and she were doing, so now that that's out of the way... I intend to scrounge up some dinner, if you'd care to join me?" Correctly interpreting the direction of the Commander's glance, he added, "The Inquisitor will be fine. You'll be back long before she wakes -- she won't even know you're gone."

Cullen hesitated a moment longer, but finally extricated himself from his beloved's grasp and rose to follow the mage.

"As long as there's no singing," he grumbled. Dorian merely smirked as they left together.


	4. Breakfast and Banter

Eating breakfast with only one functioning arm was an exercise in patience. Or, more precisely, the lack thereof. Especially when the arm in question was scraped raw from mid forearm to bicep and wrapped in a thick bandage. The Inquisitor made it halfway through her bowl of oatmeal -- arm stinging nastily with every mouthful -- before flopping back against her pillows with a groan of frustration. She stared balefully at the offending dish. She could close tears in the veil, wrap nations around her little finger, and topple self-styled gods, but apparently breakfast was beyond her. It was galling.

Cullen, sitting in the chair beside her bed as usual, looked up from the sheaf of reports he was reading.

"You should finish eating, love," he admonished gently, "You need your strength."

The Inquisitor transferred her glare from her oatmeal to him. "Why don't you try managing a spoon with half the skin scraped off your arm, hmm? _Then_ you can scold me for not eating."

Setting aside his papers, the Commander rose. The Inquisitor looked up at him quickly, eyes widening in chagrin. She knew she got irritable when she was wounded, but Cullen was usually very patient. If she had driven even him off, she must be acting even worse than usual --

Her momentary panic abated as he merely gathered up her discarded breakfast with one hand and settled carefully on the edge of her mattress. Wordlessly, he slipped his free arm around her back, mindful of her injuries, and simply held her for a moment. She let her head rest on his shoulder, the fur of his mantle rough and familiar against her cheek. A soft sigh escaped her lips; she felt him nuzzle her hair gently. The Inquisitor felt her frustration slipping away like mist in the sun. When she looked up again, her Commander's honey-colored eyes were mere inches from hers, brimming with mingled concern and compassion. It was enough to make her insides melt. Surely, it shouldn't possible to love someone this much -- but then again, the Inquisitor had gotten quite good at doing the impossible. She smiled up at Cullen, thankful beyond measure for his presence in her life.

At least until he withdrew his arm and pointedly scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal. She groaned again, this time with exasperation.

"Cullen! I am not a child. You don't have to feed me breakfast."

"I know I don't have to. But you really should eat, and if you don't want to do it yourself..." He held out the spoon expectantly. When the Inquisitor showed no sign of relenting, he fixed her with his most imploring smile and added, "Please? For me."

Now _that_ was simply playing dirty. Rolling her eyes, more on principle than out of any real heat, the Inquisitor accepted the mouthful he was offering.

After the oatmeal was gone, she nestled more comfortably against her lover. He obligingly replaced the arm around her from earlier.

"I'm glad Sera wasn't around to see that," the Inquisitor commented after a moment, "She'd never let me live it down." Cullen's chuckle rumbled against her side. She cocked her head as a thought occurred to her. "Where _is_ Sera, anyway? I haven't seen her since I woke up back here. Blackwall, either, for that matter."

"Ah, yes... About that." His hand rose to rub the back of his neck in a familiar mannerism.  
The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows, peering up at him inquiringly.

"Something you'd like to share, Commander?"

"I believe I may have, er, frightened them off. From what I can tell, they heard I was coming and decided they would rather not be here when I arrived -- they went back out to find that trail marker you were all headed towards before your accident. Dorian would have gone with them, too, but he was still recovering from draining his mana dry on the trip back here." Cullen cleared his throat, eyes downcast sheepishly. "I'd like to think that their reaction is undeserved, but... I might have threatened to pound Sera into a pulp once I'd heard the full story. Not that I would have, mind you!" He added quickly.

The Inquisitor sighed, but her lips quirked with a trace of a fond smile. "Oh, Cullen, love. What am I going to do with you?" She echoed his words from the other day. Fixing him with a steely gaze, she continued without waiting for a response. "I hope you're planning to apologize when they get back."

"Well, I didn't actually _do_ anything..." He trailed off as he caught her eye and sat up a little straighter. "I-I mean, of course, Inquisitor."

"Much better," she murmured, and kissed him.  
\---

Cullen proved true to his word when the missing party members arrived back the next week. (Not that she'd expected any less.) Blackwall clapped him on the shoulder and assured him there was no ill will.

"I knew you wouldn't do anything rash, but someone had to keep this one out of trouble," he said, jerking a thumb at Sera. The elf stuck out her tongue at the pair of them. For Cullen, she added an obscene hand gesture, then cackled and ran off. The Commander looked bemused.

"I can never understand that woman -- was that good?"

"Oh, yes," the Inquisitor assured him. Her condition was much improved this week, thanks to the tireless efforts of the healers. "You'd know if she hadn't forgiven you -- there would have been more arrows."

"Damn right," Blackwall chuckled.

Sure enough, Sera returned an hour later with a plate full of lumpy cookies to share. Dorian had joined the reunion in the meantime, and held one up to study dubiously.

"Are you sure these are edible? I might have mistaken this one for a brick of charcoal if you hadn't told me what it was."

Sera snatched it back indignantly. "Course they're edible! They're just a little well done is all." She took a bite and promptly spat it back out. "Nope, never mind, he's right, these are shite. Baking over a campfire is even harder than with an oven." She snickered and set about arranging the cookies into phallic shapes on everyone's plates, muttering, "Harder, that's good."

"Oh, that reminds me," started Blackwall, prompting a scandalized look from Dorian, who edged away with a glance at the warrior's groin. "Oh come off it, Dorian, I'm not about to whip it out. Anyway, we found a path to that next trail marker, here--" He pulled out a map and handed it to the Inquisitor, who unrolled it to look. A row of neat arrows and an occasional doodled penis pointed the way to their destination.

Peering over the Inquisitor's shoulder, Cullen snorted. "Remind me never to put Sera in charge of any scouting missions."

"She has a good eye," Blackwall countered, jumping to her defense. "I'd trust her to watch my back and find a good path. I just wouldn't give her any reports to write, unless you like reading about arses." He glanced at the Inquisitor, still confined to her bed, and amended his opinion. "Well, as long as the path doesn't involve any canyons."

A round of laughter followed, the first of many as the unlikely group of friends bantered into the evening. Bathed in the warm glow of camaraderie, the Inquisitor found it easy to forget any lingering pain.


	5. A Farewell Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to actually write kisses beyond using lots of metaphors and words like "lips" and "heat" and "passion". My only experience with them is through other people's writing... :(

By the end of the month, the Inquisitor was back on her feet, literally and figuratively. Cullen had remained by her side the whole time, despite her protestations that he should return to his duties.

"Skyhold can manage without me for a little while longer," he'd said when she brought it up. "Besides," he added, voice dropping to an utterly delicious husky rumble, "I'd hate to leave without getting the chance to kiss the living daylights out of you."

There was no more mention of him returning to Skyhold early after that. Once the healers pronounced the Inquisitor fit for duty, Cullen had made good on his promise. He'd wrapped her in his arms at last (gently, to spare her still-tender ribs), and kissed her long and slow and sweet, a master musician playing a symphony of heat and passion with his lips and tongue until they were both left gasping.

Several days later, just thinking about his farewell kiss was still enough to make the Inquisitor's toes curl. So it was understandable that she would be a little distracted around the campfire her first evening back in the field. Her companions, of course, took complete advantage of this. Dinner proceeded without incident, but after their dishes had been put away, the Inquisitor was startled by the feeling of something tickling her brow. Fearing spiders, she jerked, clawing at her hair, only to come away with a flower crown crushed in her grip. She looked up to find Dorian on one knee in front of her, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously. Across the fire, Sera was laughing so hard she had to lean on the guffawing Blackwall for support.

"Oh, my beloved Inquisitor," cried Dorian, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically, "Please accept this gift from your most humble Commander! It is no match for your beauty, of course, but—"

The Inquisitor threw the flowers at him. "Cullen does not sound like that, you sod."

"True, I am much more eloquent. He'd probably just stutter something about love and blush adorably."

"Do you really want to start talking about the relative eloquence of our lovers?" She countered, one eyebrow raised. "I could say a few things about that—" The Inquisitor put her hands to her temples, little fingers sticking out to mimic horns, and dropped her voice to a rumble. "Hey, Dorian! Wanna fuck and kill a dragon?"

At that, Sera's cackles intensified until she slid right off Blackwall's shoulder. Dorian looked affronted.

"I take umbrage at that impression, Inquisitor! You are vastly misrepresenting the Iron Bull. Obviously, if you cared to be at all accurate, you'd know we'd kill the dragon first and fuck second." Even the Inquisitor laughed at that one.

That evening was not the last of her trials, however. Two days into their journey, the trees cleared somewhat to reveal a horribly familiar canyon. The Inquisitor rounded furiously on Blackwall and Sera, but the warrior held up his hands placatingly.

"Don't worry, don't worry! We're on the other side this time."

She continued to eye him sidelong as their path took them parallel to the canyon (well back from the edge, thankfully). Just before they were due to make camp, the Inquisitor stopped abruptly, staring. A fallen tree spanned the crack in the earth, a slash of paler wood marking a spot in the middle where a branch had been ripped off.

"Seriously?" was all she said, arms crossed and eyes steely. Blackwall coughed.

"It was the fastest route."

"Well, if we ever have to trace this trail backwards, we're going around." No one disagreed.

That night, the quiet of the camp was broken by a shout as the Inquisitor went to climb into her bedroll. She leapt to her feet, shaking out the cloth frantically. Several large spiders plopped to the ground and scuttled off into the darkness. Predictably, Sera giggled.

"What, exactly, did I do to deserve this?" griped the Inquisitor.

"We're on the other side of the canyon now, yeah?" Her cheeky grin flashed white against the background of dark foliage. "I did say the last one across got spiders in their bedroll, didn't I?"

Her only response was a groan and a curse.  
\---

Several days later, Cullen sat in his office in Skyhold, the Inquisitor's latest report in his hand. It was fairly standard, with a personal note for him at the bottom (the heart next to her signature brought a silly smile to his face), but when he got to the postscript, the Commander couldn't help but chuckle.

"P.S.," it read, "When we finally make our way back to Skyhold, please ensure that there is a nest of spiders waiting in Sera's room to greet her."

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the end is a little abrupt, by the time I finished my muse was starting to get bored. I was running out of things to say in any case. But this was a lot of fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is complete on the kink meme, but it will be be broken up a little differently here.


End file.
